stars o-T Orion's Bsl+. Stood on the toilet lid, staring. into the bathroom mirror. Then I flushed the toilet, so. my br
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0 JQE AS YOU READ, W^ THINK ABOUT: Some objects in our lives stand for something else. They may symbolize a memory, an attitude, or a loved one. As you read, think about what the shirt symbolizes to Dori.
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Then I flushed the toilet, so my brothers—and especially my mother—wouldn't suspect anything. /
I jumped down from the toilet and turned on the hot wateï full blast, I soaked my washcloth in the steaming water until my palms burned, then pressed it onto my face, I breathed in through the wet heat. After a few splashes of cold water, I dried my face, took one more deep breath, and attempted a smile, I hoped nobody would "b^ able ,tp, tell I'd been crying,'' Mom gasped happily when I stepped out ofthe bathroom, "Oh, itfitsperfectly! Boys, look at Dori!" She pulled me out to the deck and I twirled around, not trusting myself to speak, as my brothers complimented me in my new shirt, "Cute, Dori," "Looks good," I looked up at my dad, who was slouched in his chair, watching us, "You look beautiful, sweetheart," he said, I tried to say thank you, but only the "thank" came out. I pressed my lips together and counted to 210 by 7s, trying to calm myself with math. Of course, math is what got me into this mess in thefirstplace..
M
stars o-T Orion's Bsl+.
Stood on the toilet lid, staring into the bathroom mirror.
y troubles started a few days ago. My mom had come home between
shifts at the diner, I was busy vñth my math homework. She sat down next to me and put her swollen feet up on the kitchen table. Mom tries to come home between shifts whenever she can, although she doesn't really need to. My oldest brother is in charge whue she's at work, and as for me, I am old enough to keep myself out of trouble, I just do homework or read, I have never in my whole life caused trouble. Well, until now. And this trouble was just for myself, "So, have you thought of what you want for your birthday yet?" I remember Mom asking, I rested my forehead in the space between my thumb and my index finger, leaning in closer to the math problem I was trying tofigureout, "Come on," she urged, after a gulp of her iced tea, "I gotta get back to work. What are you really hoping for?" "An Orion shirt," I mumbled, still trying to focus on my math. It was thefirstweek of school, and it was important to me to make a good start, to not fall behind, "What's an Orion shirt?" Mom asked enthusiastically, I shook my head. I hadn't meant to say anything, I erased the column of numbers I'd been working on, • - • "Tell me," Mom said, giving me a nudge with her iced-tea glass, "What's an Orion shirt? I've never heard ofthat. Don't chew on your lips, Dori, they get so chapped," I let my lip slip out of my teeth and said quietly, "It's nothing, just a kind of shirt,"
SCHOLASTIC SCOPE • FEBRUARY 11, 2013
"That everybody wears?" I shrugged, then nodded, and dusted my eraser crumbs away instead of looking at her. "They're just, you know, soft cotton, like knit. With a collar. And on the left collar, there are three little black stars." "Oh, yeah," Mom said cheerfully. "I've seen a lot of the girls wearing those at the diner. They're 'the thing' this year?" I shrugged. "Yeah, but they're expensive." "Oh." Mom stood up and kissed me on the top of my head. "Well, maybe the strike will end soon." "Maybe," I said. My father's union had been on strike since July, more than two months already. Every day, my mother told me maybe it would end soon. We hadn't even gone shopping for school supplies, our annual tradition the weekend before school starts. I was stul using last year's notebooks, trying to write small—to not use too much paper. "I don't really want an Orion shirt," I told her as she rinsed her glass. "I was just kidding. What I'd really like is, um, maybe a package of colored pencils. You know, the eight pack, like in AJ's store." I knew my brother AJ could get them for a 40 percent discount at the stationery store where he works after school. "We'll see," Mom said, leaving. "I'd better hustle."
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he only reason the Orion shirt had entered my mind was that Lisa Verilli has the locker next to mine again this year. Every
morning I hear her and Garleen and their friends complimenting each other on their Orion shirts—and on their hair, their homework, their ice-skating, their singing, everything. They are polite girls, and pretty—never really outwardly mean, at least not to me. Lisa even whispers "hi" to me sometimes. She gave me half a hug the first day of school this year. But mostly she doesn't notice me; none of them do. They are the A-group, the most popular girls in school. I am in no group at aU. I do my work, and I go home. Although they are as polite with one another as grown-up ladies, the A-group scares me a little. The day Mom was asking me what I wanted for my birthday. Lisa and Carleen and the others in the A-group had been comparing which colors of Orion shirts they had gotten to start the school year. Yellow a n d white s e e m e d to b e the top two. Though I wasn't paying close attention. But after I closed m y locker, I t u r n e d m y h e a d a n d found myself eye to eye with Lisa. She flicked her eyes down my body, taking in the h a n d - m e - d o w n T-shirt with the faded football o n it, from my brother Gal, a n d the brown-corduroy shorts gathered u p by a belt AJ h a d outgrown. Lisa smiled sympathetically, which is what m a d e m e feel bad. I shrugged, to show I don't care about surface things like what I wear, a n d walked away. But later, w h e n I was at the kitchen table with m y m o t h e r a n d her iced tea, I was thinking about myself in an Orion shirt. I was imagining how it would feel to get o n e of those purring compliments: "Oh, Dori! That's the exact Orion shirt I wanted! But it looks m u c h better on you."
WWW.SCH0LASnC.COM/SC0PE • FEBRUARY 11, 2013
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I was fantasizing what it might feel like, to look good enough.
O
n the night of my birthday, we cooked out in the
b a c k y a r d ^ h o t dogs, my favorite, and a white cake with chocolatefrosting.My little brother, Nate, whispered to me, "There is a big, beautiful present with a card with a rainbow on it, but don't tell anybody, because it's a secret." I promised I wouldn't teU anybody, but he was so excited he couldn't even eat his cake; so Mom let him give me the presents. There were two, held together with a yellow ribbon. On top was a card made by Nate. It had a drawing of a girl with long, long hair, much lohger than mine, standing beneath a rainbow. On the inside it said, DORI - HPPY BDAY, U RTHE B. That's Nate's way of writing "You are the best." He's only 4-and-a-half. I let him tear open the small present. It was a box of colored pencils, the eight pack. I hugged them and said thanks, and wondered for a second what the big box could be. Until I realized. I tore open the wrapping paper and saw that in that box was a shirt. A soft, knit shirt with a collar. And on the left collar, three little black... hearts. My stomach dropped. It was a fake, a cheap imitation, with hearts instead of stars. It was still too expensive, probably, for my mother to be buying for me this year. And it was worse than no Orion shirt at all. It was the fakeness that was so awful. I'd rather wear my brothers' old T-shirts. At least they are what they are, and don't try to be anything else. I held up the fake shirt for everybody to see, while my mother explained that it was an Orion shirt, the hottest trend of the year for the girls in my class. I chewed on my lip, and she didn't stop me, I gave her and my dad kisses, thanked them for the presents, and quickly helped clean up all the wrapping and paper plates so I wouldn't have to look at anybody. But when I got back outside, there was Mom, holding up the shirt, saying, "Go try it on, Dori. Let's see how it looks!" — , S« I went obediently to the bathroom, tried it on, cried at my reflection, modeled it for the family, theh headed straight for my room. I peeled it off and put on a comfortable old pair of pajamas. I folded the shirt, placed it neatly in my drawer, and closed the drawer tight. When Mom said I should come watch TV with everybody, I yelled down that I was tired and had to finish reading a book for school the next day Mom came up. "Hey, birthday girl," she gaid. I kept reading."Your new shirt is going to look great with your brown corduroys." I opened my mouth to protest, but no words-came. Just shame. Shame at not being able to aftord the real thing, a rehearsal shame for the real shame I knew I'd feel when Lisa and Carleen and the others in the A-group saw me th^ next morning at the lockers. I could see myself standing there wearing a fake, a wish-I-had-what-you-have-but-Ican't-afford-it imitation shirt. Not good enough. I turned away while my mother tucked . the blanket tight around me. "You are so loved," she whispered. At the lockers early in the morning. Lisa looked at me, not unkindly. But then Carleen yanked on Lisa's yellow Orion sleeve and whispered in her ear, I hung on to my locker and waited, I tasted the salty tear that slipped out by accident. I raised-my eyes to meet Lisa's.
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